God of Malice (Legacy of Gods #1)(30)

“That’s called delusional.”

“Semantics.” He reaches for the glovebox and I push against the leather of the seat.

The squeaking sound fills the interior and I whisper, “What are you doing?”

Killian grabs a tissue and smiles. Or more like smirks. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite you.” He wipes the blood, smudging it all over his mouth further before making it go away. “Yet.”

The engine revs and I startle when I’m physically flung back against the seat as he speeds forward. My mind races with endless possibilities about where the hell he’s taking me while I fasten my seatbelt and hold on to it for dear life.

Logically, the northern side of the island isn’t that big. Aside from the two campuses, there’s downtown, shops, a library, and some restaurants and hotspots that the students frequent.

So he can’t kidnap and kill me around here.

Still not a reassuring thought, though.

“I figured you’d be a good girl.”

My eyes leave the road and focus on him. He motions at my seatbelt that I’m digging my nails in.

“It’s for safety.”

“Don’t worry. I’m an excellent driver.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m sure you are. I bet you’re good at everything.”

“Pretty much. I’m good at what I’m interested in.”

“And what are you interested in?” I sound nonchalant enough that it flies under the radar.

Because I’m changing gears here.

I can’t just keep getting blindsided by him and thrown around like a helpless doll. I need to somehow make the first move.

If my previous interactions with Killian are of any indication, then I’m sure he’s on the antisocial spectrum. Like Lan—maybe even worse.

Because while he’s a beast to the world, my brother chooses to spare us. The keyword being chooses. Because Lan can become insufferable when he’s bored. It’s why we stay away from him—it’s just impossible to figure out what goes on in his unpredictable head.

And if Lan is of any indication, then like him, Killian must have an obsession. A stimulus. A need for something to keep his tendencies regulated.

For my brother, it’s sculpting. He became a more socially accepted being after focusing on his art. The only time we voluntarily approach Lan is after he exits his art studio.

It’s when he’s the most elated, somewhat normal, and even jokes with us.

I choose to think that Lan would never be as subhuman as Killian, though. I choose to think that deep down, my brother cares about our parents and us.

Back at RES, he beat up a bunch of entitled kids who called Bran a fag. He came home bloodied, but those kids had to be admitted to the A&E.

He also slashed the tires of a teacher who called my painting mediocre and told her she had no business judging me when she was a tasteless, talentless piece of rubbish herself.

Bran says Lan only does those things to protect his own image that we’re an extension of. But I’m not as pessimistic as he is.

Anyway, I need to figure out what makes Killian tick and try to counter it.

“For now, you.”

I swallow at his neutral tone as he keeps his attention on the road. He’s speeding, the lights and trees blurring in my peripheral vision, but I’m unable to focus on that right now.

“Why would you be interested in me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The fact that we don’t know each other? Oh, and you assaulted me the first time we met.”

“As I said, I saved you. You should learn to become more grateful.”

“That was assault, Killian.”

“Call it whatever you like.” He tilts his head in my direction, a dark gleam shining in his eyes. “By the way, I like the sound of my name on your lips.”

“Then you won’t be hearing it anymore.”

“You know, defying me every step of the way will only tire you. It could be so much better and easier if you enjoy this and try to free yourself.”

“And let me guess, I’ll have to give in to your every whim?”

“It’s highly recommended.”

“I would rather choke to death.”

“I can make that happen, but I prefer feeling that wild pulse in your neck.”

My palms turn sweaty and I rub them against the sides of my shorts. There’s no need to guess if these are casual words or not, because I have no doubt that this psycho would make them come true.

He’s really unhinged.

“You should work on quitting that habit.” He motions at my palms that are slowly going up and down. “It gives away your discomfort. Or is it anxiety? Maybe nervousness? Or the three combined?”

It hits me then.

If he’s like Lan, then he doesn’t process emotions like the rest of us. It’s not only about a lack of empathy for these guys. They literally don’t see emotions through the same lenses as normal people.

Almost every single socially acceptable emotion they have to portray is gradually learned through their environment. Little by little, they perfect their outer image to the point where they’re indistinguishable in a crowd.

But if anyone gets close, close enough to see behind the façade, they find out just how dysfunctional, how cardboard they are.